


Hips Don't Lie

by supersalad



Category: The Muppets (TV 2015)
Genre: Awkward hookup, Breakup, Exes, M/M, Muppets Existing Below the Waist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28653375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supersalad/pseuds/supersalad
Summary: Even though Beaker is with Bunsen now, there's still a skeleton in his closet. An exoskeleton, to be more precise. He never told Bunsen about that one time with Pepe. Until a battle of the exes changes things.
Relationships: Beaker/Dr. Bunsen Honeydew, Beaker/Pepe the King Prawn
Comments: 14
Kudos: 20





	Hips Don't Lie

**Author's Note:**

> So if you tilt your head and squint, [this tweet](https://twitter.com/dropthemictnt/status/1090059550168735744) makes it sound like Beaker and Pepe are exes. And when I found this out, I kind of really started to love the idea that they did, in fact, have a thing at one point. The first scene was written as a joke, but then the rest happened, because I had to know what their brief, awkward, ill-fated little affair might've looked like. Here's their [Drop the Mic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ohcNAZGSt1g) appearance for reference. I also wanted to do something with [the fact that Beaker owes Pepe $3](https://youtu.be/D8QE_jZ8sTg?t=38), because I always wondered what that was all about.

Beaker tapped his fingers rhythmically against the base of the microscope, meeping to himself. He glanced over at Bunsen. "What rhymes with prawn?"

"Hmm," Bunsen scratched his chin. "How about delocalized electron?"

Beaker sighed, thinking he might need to reexplain the concept of a rap battle to Bunsen. "Thanks, but I'm trying to _not_ sound like a total nerd."

"Oh, you'll do wonderfully, Beakie. You're the hippest lab assistant there is."

Beaker groaned, but Bunsen stood on his tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek. Bunsen wrapped his arms around him, shoving his phone directly under his nose. "And lookie! You're so cute in these promo pictures."

"I look like a deer in headlights." Beaker picked up the stack of petri dishes and turned around to kiss Bunsen back, but Bunsen had already wandered away, still scrolling through his phone.

"Oh, how amusing! This tweet is calling it a 'battle of the exes.'"

"Wait, what?" The stack of petri dishes clattered to the floor, but Beaker stood frozen in his spot. "How do they know about that?"

"What do you mean, Beakie? Everyone knows about Kermit and Miss Piggy."

"Oh. Yeah. Them." Beaker knelt down to clean up the mess at his feet, making sure to angle his face away from Bunsen, afraid of what his expression would give away. But when he stood back up, Bunsen had lifted up his glasses in horror. All the green had drained from his face.

"No - _no_ \- don't tell me you and Pepe-"

"It was one date! Just one!" Beaker shouted as Bunsen buried his face in his hands. "It was back when Up Late first started - he came into the lab one day and, well, you know how he is-" Beaker put on his best Pepe impression. "Come on, Beepers, why stay home watching Space Trek when you can go dancing with this hot and spicy prawn, okay?"

Beaker heard a muffled wail from behind Bunsen's hands.

"We just went out once! That was it!" Beaker insisted.

"But - but did you..."

Beaker shrunk into his collar. "It was Pepe. What do you think?"

"...How was it?"

From inside his collar, Beaker mumbled something that sounded like "there's a lot you can do with four hands."

A strangled noise came out of Bunsen, who was clearly wishing he hadn't asked. "Well then - why wasn't there a second date?"

"There almost was. But he, uh, stormed out on me."

"What made him do that?"

Beaker sighed. "I took him to a seafood restaurant."

* * *

The whole thing with Pepe had been a bit of a whirlwind. But Beaker could still remember exactly how it had started. That day, Bunsen had stepped out of the lab for a bit, leaving Beaker to work on the Confession Water that Miss Piggy had wanted for the show - if her guests suddenly started spilling all their embarrassing secrets, what could be better for ratings?

Except that Beaker had no intention of following the formula correctly. Because he knew he'd have to test it, and he knew exactly what he'd confess. The thoughts that infiltrated his head when Bunsen would flirt with him at Rowlf's tavern after work. The tingles down his spine with every whispered science pun or snicker in his ear. The frustrations that built up when he still went home by himself night after night. He could take the physical pain of any experiment, but he couldn't take Bunsen knowing any of this.

Beaker held up a flask and examined it, trying to determine the best way to deactivate the confession part of the Confession Water. Then he heard a voice floating up from somewhere around his waist.

"Hola, Beepers."

Beaker shrieked and dropped the flask, knocking over a set of test tubes. Their contents briefly burst into flames before fizzling out, leaving smoldering ashes on the table.

Pepe's eyes widened. "And I thought being a writer was dangerous. At least, a writer for Miss Picky. The karate chops-" he shuddered. Casual as anything, he climbed onto the table and crossed his legs, as if there wasn't thousands of dollars' worth of fragile and highly combustible equipment all around. "I'm glad I finally found the craft services."

"Craft services?" Beaker repeated blankly.

"This is Muffin Labs, no? Don't you make the muffins here?"

"Only exploding ones."

Pepe still wasn't moving. Beaker worked around him, trying to clean everything up, but he wasn't getting the hint. Beaker rubbed his temples, trying to be patient. Sure, the whole set was new for everyone right now, and sure, Beaker was the last person to try to correct someone's pronunciation, but _still_. He didn't have time for this.

"I was looking for something to drink, okay? All this writing is making me very thirsty." Pepe eyed another batch of the Confession Water.

Beaker shook his head frantically. "Pepe, don't touch that."

Not that he thought the water would have any effect on Pepe. For a moment, Beaker wondered what it would be like, being able to speak his mind so freely and go after what he wanted, in the way that seemed to come so naturally to Pepe.

But he forgot that train of thought as Pepe reached for the water. As reluctant as Beaker was to lift Pepe bodily off the table, he had no other option, so he grabbed him and picked him up. Pepe flailed in his arms.

"Beepers, put me down, I'm too high up, I-" he braced himself with a hand against Beaker's chest, and then his struggling stopped suddenly. He smoothed back his wisps of hair and cleared his throat.

"Is not that I'm small. Is just that you are so very tall, okay?" He slid his hand down Beaker's chest and looked up at him, and his antennae twitched. "Tall and handsome."

"Huh?" Beaker realized his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn't seem to close it. "Uh. Thank you? I-"

"Shh. No hablo the meemees." Pepe reached up and pressed a finger to Beaker's slackened lower lip. "You know, your eyes are so intense up close. So very... wide and staring."

"I bet they are," Beaker squeaked out.

Both of Pepe's antennae were pointing straight at Beaker now, fully focused on him. "Tell me, Beepers. Do you like to dance?"

"Not in public."

"I do too!" Pepe smiled. "I know the perfect place to take you tonight."

Beaker hesitated for a moment, but he shook his head no. It occurred to him that he was still holding Pepe, so he set him back down on the table, but Pepe clutched onto the sleeve of his lab coat.

"Come on, Beepers, you don't want to spend another night at home alone watching Space Trek, okay?"

He was about to shake his head no again, more firmly this time. Going out with Pepe was too absurd an idea to entertain. Yet, somehow, he couldn't help but entertain it. It was hard not to, as Pepe gazed up at him with more bravado than it seemed physically possible for him to contain. There was something almost contagious about it.

All of Bunsen's flirting went nowhere. Pepe, at least, wouldn't flirt without following through. Even if it meant nothing, Beaker had nothing to lose.

So he found himself slowly nodding yes.

* * *

Beaker knew he didn't belong here, in this glitzy nightclub with its thumping beats and pulsating lights. But Pepe's confident "he's with me, okay?" let him sail past the line, through the door, and onto the dance floor, where he was trying to keep up with Pepe as his entire little body swayed and shimmied in front of him.

If Beaker was moving the way Pepe was, he would dislocate something. Pepe kept his antennae held high as he bounced around the dance floor with gusto, his gold chain flying every which way. Beaker wondered vaguely if this was some elaborate prawn mating dance. He'd have to look it up later.

At first, he was amazed that Pepe had never been trampled. But the more Beaker watched him dance, the more he marveled at the way his presence on the dance floor seemed so much greater than his size. He moved with abandon even in the middle of the crowd, making it easy for Beaker to pretend there was no one else but the two of them.

Still, Beaker could barely hear Pepe's voice over the music when he spoke.

"You're going to poke someone's eye out waving those fingers around, okay?" Pepe yelled up to him. "That's not dancing. You need to feel the rhythm."

"I _am_ ," Beaker insisted, but Pepe reached up and grabbed both of his hands.

"Try moving those skinny hips." With his remaining two hands, Pepe took Beaker's hips, guiding them from side to side and in circles. "Si, that's it, Beepers, just let the music flow through you."

Beaker was nearly thrown off-balance when Pepe gripped his hips with all four hands and pulled him closer. Pepe was picking up the pace with Beaker's hips, and soon, Beaker was moving them on his own. He had no idea what possessed him to do what he did next, but he scooped Pepe up in his arms, lifting him high enough so that their hips could touch.

He waited for Pepe to demand to be put back down, but instead, Pepe threw his head back and cackled gleefully. "Oh, Beepers," he laughed, wrapped his legs around his waist, "I knew you had it in you to be a little spicy, too."

Still holding Pepe against him with one hand, Beaker reached up and started to stroke his antennae, but Pepe slapped his hand away. "They're very sensitive."

"I'm sorry - I didn't realize-"

"Later." Pepe's voice softened. "I'll show you just how to touch them."

If this was some kind of mating dance, it was working.

* * *

When Pepe said that he was going to change into something more comfortable, Beaker hadn't expected the frilly nightie that Pepe was wearing when he emerged from his tiny walk-in closet. He stared from the edge of the bed as Pepe twirled around in it.

"Very pretty, no?"

"Very... see-through," was all Beaker could say, knowing he was talking more to himself than to Pepe.

"Gracias." Pepe did something resembling a curtsy, but he paused and glanced up at Beaker. "You did say is pretty, right?"

Beaker nodded. It _was_ pretty; he'd tell him if he could.

Pepe climbed up on the bed and knelt next to him. "I know what is like to have a language barrier. That's why for me, is easier to just get to the physicals."

"Physicals?" Beaker repeated.

"Oh, Beepers. So tense all the time. Here, I'm very good at the massages."

The next thing Beaker knew, Pepe was behind him, kneading his back with all four hands at once. Pepe hadn't exaggerated his skills; the pressure of his hands was firm and gentle at the same time, working out all the knots that had built up in his muscles over the course of the day. Beaker couldn't help the little "mmm" noises escaping from the back of his throat.

Pepe scooched closer to him, close enough for his antennae to brush against the back of Beaker's neck. "You like it?"

Beaker nodded, more vigorously than he meant to, and he drew in a sharp breath as all of Pepe's hands worked their way lower and lower down his back. Then he felt a hand rubbing his thigh. " _Oh_ -"

"I can massage here too, okay?"

Beaker managed to squeak out an "okay," the word itself and not a meep. At least they had that one word in common.

Pepe crawled into his lap, facing him, one hand still on his thigh. Beaker gulped, remembering that there were still three more. Sure enough, another hand reached up and started loosening his tie, while a third one trailed along his chest. And he thought _Bunsen_ was handsy.

As if reading his mind, Pepe murmured, "You have very stressful job. You should relax, okay, and not think about the Bunsens. Let me treat you nice."

That was the problem, though - Beaker couldn't stop thinking about Bunsen. Not even as Pepe's fourth hand took Beaker's chin, drawing his face closer until their lips met. But Pepe's antennae tickled his face as they kissed, and the lace of his nightie was thin and delicate under his fingertips, and Beaker only wanted to lose himself in whatever was going to happen next.

He pressed back harder, as if the more he kissed Pepe, the more he could push everything else away.

* * *

Beaker stared up at the ceiling, catching his breath. The name that'd been on his lips just moments ago was now ringing in his ears. Bunsen's name. He'd said _Bunsen's_ name. More like shouted it, actually.

Pepe, of course, hadn't known the difference. He was lounging down by Beaker's legs, his eyelids drooping as he let out a contented sigh. Looking at him, Beaker's insides twisted with guilt. If he had a collar to disappear into, he would've.

Pepe gave a soft chuckle as he nuzzled Beaker's leg. "Dios mio, Beepers, I didn't know you could meemee like that."

Beaker swallowed the lump that was rising in his throat. Suddenly, he couldn't sit still - he bolted upright and started looking around for where Pepe had flung his clothes.

His stripey socks were the closest to him, and he started pulling them back on. His feet had been cold without them, but Pepe had insisted that keeping them on would be too dorky even for Beaker.

As he gathered the rest of his clothes, Pepe leaned against him, tilting his head up towards him. "Why the rush, beautifuls? Don't you want to stay and have the cuddles? Or maybe go for round two?"

"I'm sorry - it's getting late, I should really-"

Seeing Pepe's blank stare, he went to tap on his watch. But Pepe had even managed to take that off. Beaker had a feeling he wasn't going to find it.

In the back of his mind, he knew he looked like the worst combination of ridiculous and rude, the way he was pulling his clothes on like the room was on fire. But his mind was racing too fast to string together an excuse, much less figure out how to communicate it. He fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, and he knew he had to leave before Pepe noticed how hard he was shaking. He didn't even bother with his tie; he stuffed it hastily into his pocket.

"Bye, Pepe." He attempted an awkward wave, already regretting leaving but already halfway out the door. He wanted to say more, to give a reason, but any other words would just hang meaninglessly in the air between them anyway.

"Buenas noches, okay, Beepers?"

He could feel Pepe's eyes on him as he left.

* * *

Even though he'd showered, Beaker could still smell the club all over him the next morning, and worse, the cologne that Pepe had doused himself in. As he opened the door to the lab, he tried to tell himself it was just his imagination, and that Bunsen wouldn't be able to detect it on him too.

He walked in to find a bouquet of snapdragons sitting on his workbench. He could hear Bunsen in the storage closet, so he took the opportunity to rip open the envelope and read the note. _I had lots of funs last night. xoxo, your passionate prawn_.

At the sound of Bunsen's voice right behind him, Beaker jumped and crumpled the note in his hand. "Beaker, do you have a secret admirer?"

"Oh, these are from - uh - Kermit. Miss Piggy thought the Confession Water worked really well, and, you know, he's grateful for anything that makes his life easier."

"How lovely! It's all thanks to you, Beakie." Bunsen patted his shoulder, but before Beaker could respond with anything other than a half-formed whimper of a meep, Bunsen had moseyed away.

Beaker turned back to the snapdragons, tracing a finger along the stems. Last night, Pepe had wanted him to stay. He could've spent the night with four arms around him, with Pepe whispering sweet "okay"s in his ear. Probably the same things Pepe told everybody. At least Beaker would know he didn't mean any of it, instead of having to wonder. While Bunsen was busy tinkering with some electrodes, Beaker pulled out his phone to text Pepe.

_Thank you for the flowers_ , he typed. _Let me take you out to dinner. My treat._ Pepe wasn't going to turn down a free meal, Beaker knew that much.

Now he just had to make a reservation somewhere, and fast. All he could think of was that one fancy restaurant he'd pass every day on the way to work. The one he'd imagined Bunsen taking him to on his pretend dinner date, dressed up all alone in his apartment. Maybe it was time to let go of that hope. Even the balloon Bunsen had looked like it was judging him.

* * *

Beaker was on his second glass of wine before they'd even ordered their food. He kept taking sips of it, just to give himself something to do besides fidgeting.

"You're such a good listener, Beepers," Pepe was saying. "My point is, I don't know why they don't change the name of the show. It doesn't make sense! A Plate with Miss Picky? A plate of what? They should've asked me to name the show. I am a writer, after all."

Beaker couldn't take it anymore. He took out his phone and texted to Pepe, _"Up Late," not "a plate."_

Pepe looked up from his phone in awe. "Beepers, that's genius! Up Late is such a better idea!"

"No, Pepe, the show is already called-"

"You should come work in the writers' room with me. I'll steal you away from the Bunsens. He takes you for granted anyways."

It was such a simple statement, thrown out so casually, like an indisputable fact, that Beaker didn't even know how to attempt a response. He lowered his eyes, pretending to be reading his menu instead.

Pepe picked his up, too. "You know, I haven't even looked at the menus yet. But I already know that my desserts is sitting across from me, wearing a green velvet suit." His throaty laugh made Beaker duck into his collar until his nose touched his bowtie.

But as Pepe's eyes traveled down the menu, his cheeky grin vanished.

"Beepers, what is this? Caviar? Lobster tail?" His head snapped up from the menu, his eyes wide. "Skewered _prawn_?"

"Oh no - Pepe, wait - I didn't mean to-"

"Is this some kind of joke? Why would you do this?" He shook his head as Beaker continued to splutter, and he threw the menu down on the table, rattling the silverware. "I don't understand you at all, Beepers. And, no, I don't mean the meemees."

Pepe hopped down from his chair so he could stand right in front of Beaker, both pairs of arms crossed, shouting loud enough for every head in the restaurant to turn in their direction. "We have incredible time last night, but then you just walk out on me. Then you ask me to dinner, but then you take me to a place where _I am on the menus_! Unbelievable!" 

He let out a huff of outrage, but he wasn't done yet. "I could be on sixteen different dates tonight, okay? I can't waste my time with someone who doesn't know what he wants. If you did want me, Beepers, is too late now."

Then Pepe stormed out of the restaurant, his antennae held defiantly high. Beaker sat frozen in his chair, still keenly aware of everyone's eyes on him. Not knowing what else to do, he poured himself the rest of the wine. He knew that was a bad decision, and he only wished it'd been the worst one he'd made today.

But he couldn't seem to stop slamming his hand down on the self-destruct button. As soon as he'd let himself think that he could have a good thing with Pepe, he had to go and ruin it like this. He'd sabotaged Bunsen's invention, too, and Bunsen had been so proud that morning when Beaker had lied about the flowers.

No wonder Pepe didn't understand him. He didn't understand himself, or why he couldn't just allow himself be happy.

He fumbled with his phone, clumsy from all the wine. He didn't know what to say to Pepe other than, _I'm really sorry._

He'd just resigned himself to not getting an answer when a message popped up. _No worries, Beakie! We'll try again with the cold fusion goggles on Monday._

Now he was even _texting_ Bunsen instead of Pepe by accident. He wanted to scream. Instead, he buried his head in his hands. He should've known that this wouldn't end well, and that it would be his own fault.

* * *

And just like that, it was over as quickly as it had started. Sometimes Beaker wondered if it'd been some wild, experiment-induced fever dream. They were back to exchanging casual greetings, colleagues and nothing more. No one would notice anything amiss, not unless they picked up on the way Pepe's voice was just the slightest bit gruffer, or the way Beaker's face would sink just an inch or two into his collar. Beaker could almost pretend that nothing had happened. Almost.

Until the night Miss Piggy decided to join everyone at Rowlf's after work, and a karaoke party broke out. Beaker watched a heavy-lidded Pepe stumble off the stage, still slurring the lyrics to "Love Shack" even though the song had ended.

Beaker curled his fingertips into Bunsen's sleeve. "Please? Just one song? It can't be worse than _that_."

Bunsen slid his arm around the back of Beaker's chair, and Beaker felt his breath on his cheek. "Oh, Beakie, why don't I stay here and listen to you do a song? You have such an angelic voice!"

"That's not the point. I want to do it with you - I mean - sing with you - I-" It was getting harder to speak, or even breathe, being this close to Bunsen. If he leaned in one more inch, their noses would touch. Just then, Beaker felt something bounce off the back of his head.

He looked over his shoulder to see that Pepe had thrown a crumpled-up napkin at him. Beaker leapt out of his chair. "I'm going to fry that little shrimp."

Pepe was perched on a bar stool, both sets of hands on his hips as Beaker approached. "What you mean, can't be worse than that? I killed it up there, okay?"

Beaker stared at him. "You understood what I said?"

"Of course I like bread. What kind of question is that?" Pepe shook his head at him. "Anyway, I take it the Bunsens doesn't like to sing?"

"Not in public." Beaker could think of a thousand times in the lab, Bunsen joining in every time Beaker got carried away singing to himself. But a duet in front of a crowd was a different story.

"You're trying to do more than just _sing_ with him, no?" Pepe asked with a knowing tilt of his head, and the way Beaker ducked into his collar was enough of an answer. "Listen, Beepers. You just need something to loosen him up a bit. Sort of like, ehm, loosening up someone's hips on the dance floor."

That felt like so long ago now, but Beaker still remembered picking Pepe up, and how forward and fearless he'd felt then. He let out a small, sheepish laugh.

Pepe stood up on his stool, waving Rowlf over. "Hola, Woof."

Rowlf heaved a sigh. "I told you, Pepe, it's Rowlf."

"That's what I said. Woof." Pepe nodded in Beaker's direction. "Give him one of those fancypants fruity drinks that the Bunsens likes."

Beaker patted his pockets. "Pepe, I don't have any money left."

But Pepe set three dollars down on the bar and said to Beaker, "You only have to pay me back if it works, okay?" He poured some salt onto one of his hands and added, "And another tequila for me, Woof."

When his shot arrived not a minute later, Pepe looked down at each of his hands, having already forgotten which one the salt was on. That made him crack up. He shrugged and picked up the glass anyway, raising it in a little toast.

Beaker's mouth twisted slightly with concern. "Pepe, maybe you shouldn't-"

Pepe waved a hand dismissively at Beaker. "For you and your Honeybuns. You wanted him all along, no?"

Without waiting for Beaker to answer, he threw his head back and downed the shot. A shudder ran through him as he plunked the glass down loudly.

"Is okay, Beepers. The heart doesn't choose these things." He swayed a bit, then pointed up at Beaker, peering at him through even heavier lids. "A word of advice, though. Don't take him to a restaurant that serves melons, okay?"

At that, he nearly fell off his stool laughing, like it was the funniest thing in the world. Beaker had to catch him before he keeled over backwards. As he helped Pepe settle back onto the stool, Pepe twined all of his arms around one of Beaker's, holding on tight.

Beaker glanced further down the bar at Gonzo and Rizzo, who'd been doing an admirable job of pretending not to listen in. They both gave him a little nod, assuring him that they'd take care of Pepe. So Beaker gently disentangled himself from Pepe's embrace.

"Thanks for the drink," Beaker said. He picked it up and stared down into it, and as he walked back to Bunsen, he muttered to himself, "I just hope this works."

* * *

Beaker thought that Pepe might've been too drunk, or too hungover the next day, to remember the three dollars. But Pepe didn't forget, and he didn't let Beaker forget, either.

There were times he'd be kissing Bunsen in the hallway, and he'd hear a threatening little "three dollars, Beepers!" passing by from below. During the crew's poker nights, he could feel Pepe's glare from behind his sunglasses every time Beaker's pile of chips grew and Pepe's shrunk. Even after the cancellation of Up Late, Pepe kept it up, taunting Beaker about the three dollars at their live shows.

Beaker kept meaning to pay him back, he really did. Every time he was about to, though, something gave him pause. If he was being honest with himself, he was afraid of jinxing things.

Pepe had said that Beaker only had to pay him back if it worked. And in the one sense, it had - he'd gone home with Bunsen that night. But that wasn't all that Beaker had wanted. To pay back the three dollars meant that Bunsen wasn't going anywhere, that Beaker wasn't going to lose him, that there wasn't some stupid mistake Beaker would make that would result in everything falling apart. And all of that seemed too good to be true.

Besides, it gave Pepe a reason to talk to him. Pepe would go out of his way to remind Beaker of his debt at every chance, and sometimes, it would even turn into real conversations, Beaker hearing about whoever Pepe was chasing that week or Pepe helping Beaker pick out songs for karaoke at Rowlf's. Maybe that was the closest they could have to a friendship. Once he paid Pepe back, he'd miss that.

* * *

The cold silence in the lab slowly drove Beaker insane for the rest of the morning. He'd given up working on his rhymes. The only times Bunsen spoke to him were to update him on their microbe samples, or to inquire about what they should get for lunch. But when Bunsen bustled back in with their lunch order that afternoon, he seemed a little more chipper. Or so Beaker thought.

"Oh, Beakie, thanks for getting the door for me. I only have _two hands_ , after all."

"Bunsen-" Beaker sighed and started opening the containers that Bunsen was setting down. One made him pause. "You had to get sweet and sour shrimp? Really?"

"I just happened to be in the mood for some reason," Bunsen said with an aloof little wobble of his head.

Beaker tried to let it go. But after watching Bunsen take an unnecessarily aggressive bite into his shrimp, he'd had enough. He slammed his fork down on the table and stood up.

"How can you be so mad about something I did before we were together?" Beaker's meeps came out shrill from holding back all day. "I told you, it was just a stupid little fling, it didn't - it didn't mean-"

He hesitated, unable to bring himself to say that it didn't mean anything. He'd certainly wanted it to mean nothing. He'd gone into it thinking that it would. And nothing had come of it - he'd made enough mistakes to ensure that. But maybe all of that meant something in itself.

Bunsen adjusted his glasses and asked quietly, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Beaker fidgeted before replying, "I didn't know how you'd react."

It wasn't exactly the jealousy that Beaker had been afraid of. The other option might have been worse. If Bunsen had shrugged it off, if Bunsen hadn't cared - if it meant nothing to Bunsen. Given the choice between the two, Beaker would take the jealousy. He didn't mind it. In fact, he kind of liked it.

It ignited something in him, something that made him walk over to Bunsen's side of the table and slide into the space between Bunsen and his lunch.

"Look, I don't care if he had a hundred hands, there isn't anything that comes close to you. I can tell you exactly what I want. I can leave my stripey socks on. I can be vulnerable around you. I-" Beaker held Bunsen's face in his hands, looking right into his glasses, and he murmured, "Do you really not know what you do to me?"

Bunsen raised himself up on his tiptoes, and his lips were close enough to Beaker's that Beaker could _feel_ his next words when he said them. "Show me."

Beaker knocked the carton of shrimp off of the table so he could lean back against the surface, pulling Bunsen down on top of him by the tie, without breaking their kiss for even an instant.

* * *

Backstage at Drop the Mic, Beaker hesitated outside of Pepe's dressing room. He raised his hand to knock on the door, but before he could, he felt a pair of satin gloves grab his shoulders and spin him around. He shrank into his collar when he found himself face-to-face with Miss Piggy.

"Listen to moi, Beaker. _Be brutal_ ," she demanded, shaking him by the shoulders. "Don't you dare go easy on those two. Dissect that frog like he's one of your science experiments. Kick that little shrimp in the sand vein. Because I am _not_ going to lose to my ex. Got that?"

Beaker emerged from his collar to nod obediently, and Miss Piggy seemed satisfied with that. He waited until she was well out of sight before finally knocking on Pepe's door. From the other side, he heard, "Pasa!"

He walked in to find Pepe standing on the table in front of the mirror, combing gel through his hair with all four hands, wearing nothing but his chain.

"Oh - I can come back later-"

"No, no, Beepers, sit downs." He gestured at the chair right behind him.

Before taking a seat, Beaker dropped a few crumpled dollar bills onto the table. "Here's your three dollars. Now you can stop bugging me about it."

Pepe glanced down. "I get it. You think I'll go nicer on you, just because you pay back the monies."

"No, that's not why-"

Pepe sprayed himself with cologne, and the familiar scent wafted towards Beaker. "Say whatever you want to me tonight, okay? I have an exoskeleton. I can take it."

Despite that, and despite what Miss Piggy had said, all Beaker wanted to do was to put everything behind him and not do any more damage. Except a rap battle wasn't exactly the best place for making amends with an ex. And he still had had no idea what he was even going to say.

Still naked, Pepe climbed into his lap. His antennae perked up as he looked Beaker over. For one fleeting moment, Beaker envisioned him massaging his thigh again.

"I hope you don't mind the chain, Beepers." He flashed it in front of Beaker's face: _C food_.

"Very nice. But I hope you're going to wear more than that on stage."

"Si, unfortunately." Pepe jangled the chain one more time to get his point across. "But this I wore just for you."

Beaker winced. "You're not still mad about that, are you?"

"No. But you still feel guilty about it." Pepe leaned the rest of the way in and gave Beaker a kiss on the nose. Then he hopped down from the chair, cackling.

* * *

Any second now, Beaker would get his cue to go onstage. His mouth was dry from nerves, and all the water he was gulping didn't help. While he was waiting, he got a text from Bunsen.

_After what you told me today about the Confession Water, I went back and redid the solution, and I believe it should work this time! But now I can't find the bottle..._

Beaker glanced down at the bottle in his hand. The one he'd grabbed out of the fridge in the lab without thinking. "Oh no."

* * *

"I won't lose to this pork chop in her evening attire / Or a number two pencil who looks like his eraser's on _fire_ ," Pepe delivered that last line with relish, clearly delighting in the sight of Beaker's face lowering further and further into his collar.

By the time it was Beaker's turn, he was terrified of what might come out of his own mouth. He took a deep breath. "You understand me now, Pepe, so I guess I'm in luck / Now I can tell you I said Bunsen's name when you and I-"

As he watched Pepe's jaw drop, seemingly in slow motion, he knew he'd gone way too far. But the filter between his brain and mouth was gone, and he couldn't stop, even as everyone tried to cut him off.

So much for making amends.

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think that these days, they have a weird little friendship, where they'll sometimes [go out to karaoke](https://twitter.com/SpicyPrawn/status/964580136539578368) and [make soup](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s0uj7y9-GMA) and perhaps have the occasional fleeting moment of sexual tension. Oh, and the ship name is Spicy Science.


End file.
